[narration]:
Stumbling into pieces of literature, worn out from years of flipping - those books remained a cherished collection of memories for him. Had it not for the spring cleaning, he wouldn't have remembered articulating many of those thought provoking chapters that led him to remember life as a form of nourishment. Many of the nights spent reading through them as if they were the source of life for him - to live and to apply in daily living. Really, speaking about spring cleaning...
It has been years since he made an effort to start cleaning up the mess in the residence. Ever since he moved into this brick-and-high-rising apartment, the thought about having his own studio kindled happiness in him. For once, after many years of sharing with a roommate (and at times it could be annoying because there's no privacy during the night - he tried to have a peaceful early sleeping hours while his insensitive roommate tends to come in late at night, start surfing the internet, and occasionally play some urban hips in the background while taking a shower - what an inconsiderate man!), finally those days were gone! Sleeping alone in a rather expansive quarter, with all the literature that he adored and the toys he likened for rock star's regulars - now he had the liberty to pump in whatever he likes and nobody would have given it much thought about whatever stuff that he is playing. Never mind my girlfriend, he thought - after all she loved the music that he liked. Giggling innerly, while painstaking arranging books that showed evidenced of multiple flip-through as years gone, he whistled some familiar tunes that was once banned in the 'friendly' household - cause of the immense difference in taste and musical blends.
And now he looked upon the book that he was holding, and suddenly everything seemed to stop still for a moment. Memories come washing over his mind, and he felt his heart tucked by the gentle whisper of emotional drive. Of those many years of wishful youth lives, how much of those can be said that was pleasantly memorable. Mistakes redefined his footsteps, and regrets taught him to be civil and vigilant. Nothing that matters more than being careful with words and how to fit into the crowd. And those years are marked by peer emulation rather than unique individuality. And somehow, at times he wondered which is the preferred idealism in life. And speaking of idealism...
Where was idealism in whatever he was living upon? What is right and wrong in life has become so blurred in him. Many of the concept of living as one was ideally being called to has become so far from ideal and he has no idea where to begin anymore. For instance, in giving his all for purity in marriage, he tried as best not to succumb to temptation in lust and making an effort to be in regular contact with his accountable partners. But life is not straight forward at times. Pressure in work, temptation subtly leaked through the day-to-day conversation during lunch time with colleagues - those fed into his mind the eventual monster that led him to do some unthinkable stuff. And yet as time goes, conscience gave way to lust and eventually he doesn't know what to believe in anymore.
Quite a sad revelation especially when he found the book. It reminded him that when he first read the book, so much was being revealed about the way of living, and the many story telling of examples that brought in eerie relevance to whatever he has believed in. Such poignancy
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